I am indeed your mother only. Forgive me
therefore the involuntary
harshness with which I met you on your return; a mother ought to
rejoice that her son is so well loved--"
She laid her head for a moment on my breast, repeating the words,
"Forgive me! oh,
forgive me!" in a voice that was neither her girlish
voice with its
joyous notes, nor the woman's voice with despotic
endings; not the sighing sound of the mother's woe, but an agonizing
new voice for new sorrows.
"You, Felix," she
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presently continued, growing
animated; "you are the
friend who can do no wrong. Ah! you have lost nothing in my heart; do
not blame yourself, do not feel the least
remorse. It was the height
of
selfishness in me to ask you to sacrifice the joys of life to an
impossible future; impossible, because to realize it a woman must
abandon her children, abdicate her position, and
renounce eternity.
Many a time I have thought you higher than I; you were great and
noble, I, petty and
criminal. Well, well, it is settled now; I can be
to you no more than a light from above, sparkling and cold, but
unchanging. Only, Felix, let me not love the brother I have chosen
without return. Love me,
cherish me! The love of a sister has no
dangerous to-morrow, no hours of difficulty. You will never find it
necessary to
deceive the indulgent heart which will live in future
within your life,
grieve for your griefs, be
joyous with your joys,
which will love the women who make you happy, and
resent their
treachery. I never had a brother to love in that way. Be noble enough
to lay aside all self-love and turn our
attachment,
hitherto so
doubtful and full of trouble, into this sweet and
sacred love. In this
way I shall be enabled to still live. I will begin to-night by taking
Lady Dudley's hand."
She did not weep as she said these words so full of bitter knowledge,
by which, casting aside the last remaining veil which hid her soul
from mine, she showed by how many ties she had linked herself to me,
how many chains I had hewn apart. Our emotions were so great that for
a time we did not notice it was raining heavily.
"Will Madame la comtesse wait here under shelter?" asked the
coachman,
pointing to the chief inn of Ballan.
She made a sign of
assent, and we stayed nearly half an hour under the
vaulted entrance, to the great surprise of the inn-people who wondered
what brought Madame de Mortsauf on that road at eleven o'clock at
night. Was she going to Tours? Had she come from there? When the storm
ceased and the rain turned to what is called in Touraine a "brouee,"
which does not
hinder the moon from shining through the higher mists
as the wind with its upper currents whirls them away, the
coachmandrove from our shelter, and, to my great delight, turned to go back
the way we came.
"Follow my orders," said the
countess, gently.
We now took the road across the Charlemagne moor, where the rain began
again. Half-way across I heard the barking of Arabella's dog; a horse
came suddenly from beneath a clump of oaks, jumped the ditch which
owners of property dig around their cleared lands when they consider
them
suitable for
cultivation, and carried Lady Dudley to the moor to
meet the
carriage.
"What pleasure to meet a love thus if it can be done without sin,"
said Henriette.
The barking of the dog had told Lady Dudley that I was in the
carriage. She thought, no doubt, that I had brought it to meet her on
account of the rain. When we reached the spot where she was
waiting,
she urged her horse to the side of the road with the equestrian
dexterity for which she was famous, and which to Henriette seemed
marvellous.
"Amedee," she said, and the name in her English
pronunciation had a
fairy-like charm.
"He is here, madame," said the
countess, looking at the fantastic
creature
plainlyvisible in the
moonlight, whose
impatient face was
oddly swathed in locks of hair now out of curl.
You know with what
swiftness two women examine each other. The
Englishwoman recognized her rival, and was
gloriously English; she
gave us a look full of insular
contempt, and disappeared in the